


Don't speak (I'll try to save us from ourselves)

by paperclipsentimental



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Prison??? Idk, Ross Being an Asshole, Semi-Graphic Depictions of Torture, Sleep Deprivation, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony on the Raft, Tw for Ross being not only a huge asshole but also creepy as fuck, implications that tony is in love with steve, see notes - Freeform, things are Not Okay in tony town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipsentimental/pseuds/paperclipsentimental
Summary: “You let him get away, didn’t you?” Tony looks away but keeps his silence, jaw clenching. Ross grabs his jaw and makes him look him in the eyes. “Tell me where he is, Tony.”Tony spits to the side, not breaking eye contact. “Go to hell,” he says.Or: Tony, even after everything, would still protect Steve with every bone in his body.





	1. One

“Oh,” Tony says, understanding cresting over him like a great and terrible wave. For a second, silence rings in the bunker. _“Howard,”_ his mother cries out in a burst of static, dazed terror painting her voice high and reedy. Tony can only watch, hands twitching like there’s a way he could help her, a woman long dead. Within a minute it’s over, Barnes points a gun at the camera and the screen goes black.

Tony rounds on Steve, betrayal stinging right down to his fingertips. “Did you know?” he accuses, already knowing the answer. _Please be honest with me,_ he begs. _Please, I thought we were friends._

Steve’s lips thin and his hands come up, open and empty. “I didn’t know it was him,” he lies, knowing that Tony will be able to read it on his face and trying it anyway. Even as he does it, he knows it was a mistake to lie, but cobwebs fill his chest and mouth and he feels sticky with fear.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath and _mourns._ “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?” The silence hangs, oppressive until Steve lets out a long breath and lowers his head. _How could you? How could you how could you how could you -_

“Yes,” he confesses. Tony turns, takes an aborted step towards Barnes only to be stopped by Steve’s hand on his armoured wrist. Don’t touch me, he wants to say. Don’t act like you have the right.

“Hydra had his mind, Tony.” Steve is speaking urgently, voice low and eyes serious. “It wasn’t him and you know it.”

He’s right, of course. “I know it,” Tony admits, wrenching his arm away. “That doesn’t make this fair.”

When he turns to Barnes anger burns like a wild fire, writhes like a wild thing in his chest until his hands shake with the force of keeping his silence. He chokes out the anger, muffles it as best he can and then stares, eyes searching. “Do you even remember her?”

Barnes tips back his head, all defiance and a strange, wild beauty and says, “I remember _all_ of them.”

It’s not an apology and Tony doesn’t expect one – the weight of those deaths don’t belong to Barnes even if he chooses to carry them on his back. It’s not an apology, but it’s enough.

He fires up his gauntlets, feeling far away and only half aware of the angry tears that prick at his eyes and the way that Steve flinches away, fists rising. Tony stares at him for a long moment, lip curling in an oil and water mix of grief and fury, before he launches up to the top of the bunker and is gone.

_No,_ he hears Zemo scream, but everything is a little far away at the moment, lost in the ocean of his grief and his anger. On his way up he comes face to face with the Black Panther and they pause to stare at each other.

They nod, and continue on their separate ways. 

When Tony had gone to the prison, Sam had said “You go alone, and you go as a friend,” and he hadn’t even hesitated. He’d said done, no problem. Until right now, this moment as he bursts out into the open air with Friday muffled in his ear, he hadn’t thought that there was anything in the world that would make him and Steve anything but friends – now he wonders if they had ever even been teammates.

He remembers a hundred occasions where Steve could have said anything – down in his workshop, Steve on the couch with his mouth open like he has something to say, but closing it again just as Tony looks over. Three o’clock in the morning on the highest balcony of the tower on the anniversary of his parents deaths, him with a glass of untouched scotch in his hand saying _I hate them for leaving me, for not loving me enough to stay, for never saying good bye._ Steve touching a finger through his hair when he thought Tony was sleeping, shifting him off the couch and into a proper bed. Steve _loving_ him, but not enough to say anything.

Maybe he thought he was being kind, keeping him in the dark. _Such a Steve thing to do,_ Tony thinks, and changes his co-ordinates to the mansion, carefully not thinking about the repercussions he’s going to face for coming face to face with two wanted criminals and letting them walk away. What he does think about, however, is the knowledge the he is the only person, probably in the world, who can verify the fact that Rogers and Barnes are probably going to be hiding out in Wakanda. That’s the kind of knowledge that could get him into very serious trouble, he thinks, and decides that it’s never going to fall into the wrong hands.

_The best hands are our own,_ he remembers Steve saying. _Well,_ he thinks back, bitter. _This is me, keeping it in my own hands. Are you happy?_

The second he lands at the mansion men in combat uniforms swarm out of everywhere and surround him, bristling with weaponry and he lowers his helmet. _Oh,_ Tony thinks, stepping out of the armour and putting up his hands.

“You’re lucky you aren’t in one of these cells,” Ross had said. Tony stifles a hysterical laugh and sends the armour away, tapping at his watch an order to have them all self-destruct, every last one of them – if he’s going away he’ll be damned if anyone gets their hands on them. Never again.

They have him on his knees when he hears the distant boom of the first one going off and someone is yelling, pointing a gun in his face but he can’t find it within himself to care, really. They cuff him, still yelling. When he laughs, someone hits him over the head with the butt of a rifle and everything goes black.


	2. Two

He comes to in a helicopter, cuffed six ways to Sunday, his hands in front of his body and a strap connects his elbows behind his back. He can’t really work out how his legs are tied, only that he can’t move them at all. For a dizzying second, he wonders if the reason he can’t move them is because he’s paralysed like Rhodey. _No,_ he thinks, _don’t be stupid._ The thumping, violent engine of the helicopter beats in time to his pulse, and a low slow burning headache starts creeping up his temples.

They walk him into the prisoner cells, a remarkably different experience from the last time he was here as a guest, hat in hand asking for information. Some things stay the same, he notes. Clint still jeers like he did last time, only now he falls silent when he notices that Tony is in cuffs, and moves back to perch on his bed, eyes narrowed. Wanda is still sitting in the same position, staring blankly. Her head rolls up as he is frog marched past and there is a hollow quality to her gaze which renders her stare unnerving and lifeless.

Sam moves to the front of his cell and watches as Tony is walked past. He’s unresisting, head raised high and with the same proud step that he’s always got, and Sam gets a vivid impression of the powerful man that Tony is underneath the easy going mask. _The hell is going on,_ Sam wonders, even as he steps to the side and lets his gaze follow them across the room.

Ross leads the strange procession of guards and a single unarmed man to an empty cell at the end of the row, the empty cell to Sam’s left, and stops them with a raised hand. He leans in close and Tony swallows, nervous but good at hiding it. “Last chance, Tony,” Ross says. “Tell me where Rogers is and you never even have to step into this cell.”

Everyone watches as a myriad of expressions play out over Tony’s face, wondering if this is the moment he becomes irredeemable. Eventually Tony huffs a laugh through his nose. “Well,” he acknowledges, glancing into his cell with something close to amusement on his face. “I would prefer a room with a view but this will do, I suppose.”

Sam lets out a long breath once he realises that Tony isn’t going to rat Steve out and knows that beside him, Clint is doing the same. Ross’s face twists in something akin to fury and the crack of his backhand is loud in the otherwise quiet space and Tony’s head snaps backwards with the force of it.

Sam feels a jolt of shock stab through his stomach at the casual display of violence but forces his face to remain neutral – _Jesus,_ he thinks as Tony straightens and spits blood with unerring accuracy onto the floor between Ross’s feet.

“Enough of this,” Ross orders after a moment of glaring, gesturing impatiently to a guard who rushes forward and undoes the cuffs. Tony flexes his wrists, feeling the blood start to flow properly again.

“Strip him down, I don’t care how. If he’ll do it by himself, fine. If not, get rough. Make sure he has nothing on him, you hear? Once he’s in his cell, then you can give him his new clothes.” He makes to leave, and then pauses. “And so help me god, _please_ be competent.”

Tony gives the guards a long look and then sighs, rolling his eyes. He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the nearest guard who blinks, surprised. “Look after that,” Tony warns, pointing. “It’s my favourite.” He finishes stripping off and does a spin to show that everything is gone. “Happy?” He asks, stepping into his cell. “It’s cold as hell in here, so,” he makes grabby hands. “Clothes, please?”

None of the guards seem to know what to say, but one chucks a bundle of clothes into the cell and slams the door, and then they all walk off. Tony pulls on a pair of pants and watches them go, frown pulling down over his eyes. “If I had known I was going to prison I would have worn a shirt I like less,” he mumbles half-heartedly, glaring in the direction that the guards disappeared.

Sam sits down on his bed to watch him measure out the cell and peep into all of the corners, thankful for the first time that the sides of the cells are just bars and glass, and therefore see through.

“Hey,” Sam says quietly when Tony slumps down.

“I went alone,” Tony replies. “I went alone, and as a friend, like you said.” He runs a hand through his hair and pauses, slouched with his head resting in his hands. Sam thinks that his shoulders might be shaking a little, and is proved right when Tony looks up and he’s crying, a little.

“Did you know Barnes killed my mom?” Tony asks quietly, voice cracking. Wordless, Sam shakes his head and feels his chest clench in sympathy. “Steve did,” Tony confesses, eyes fluttering closed against the onslaught of tears that want to rip into his chest.

“I let them go,” Tony says after a few minutes of silence, clearly trying to shake off his grief. “That’s why I’m here, if you were wondering. They want to know where Barnes and Rogers have gone and I’m the only one who could say with any kind of certainty.”

“You gonna tell ‘em?” Sam questions, voice hard. He jumps a little when Tony laughs.

“They already know where they are,” Tony confides, lying down and staring at the ceiling. “Or at least they think they do. They just can’t go there without anything more solid than a suspicion. Hence, me. I tell them where they are and they have enough of a reason to go and get them.”

“Oh,” Sam realises.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Oh.”


	3. Three

“I’m curious,” Tony says the next day when Ross steps up to his cell. He doesn’t look away from the ceiling, and his tone is joking, a little loud. He’s nervous, but concealing it fairly well. “How long _are_ you planning on keeping me here? I mean, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but I’m kind of..” he trails off, looking Ross up and down. “Well,” he shrugs, sitting up further to lean against the wall beside his bed. “I’m kind of important. You can’t exactly bury me.”

Ross smiles, a thin, cold expression that sits unnervingly on his face. “I _can_ bury you, Stark. In fact, I already have.” Tony sucks in a sharp breath in understanding. For a second, nobody speaks and the rest of the prisoners watch on silently until Clint decides to ask the question that everyone is thinking.

“Excuse me,” he calls from the other end of the room. “But for those of us who aren’t either geniuses or in the know, what the hell is happening?”

Tony glances off to the side, clearly thinking. “It means that as of now, I’m a dead man.” He looks to Ross. “Is that right? You told everyone that, what, I died? Good luck with that, everyone knows I’m like a cockroach.”

Ross steps into the cell, right up into Tony’s face and smiles, small and pleased. “No one is going to be looking for you, because I’m going to tell everyone important that Rogers killed you. They’re the only ones that won’t believe what I’m going to tell the rest of the world, which is that you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth.” Sam watches as Tony flinches minutely, jaw clenching tight as he swallows.

Tony sighs quietly and looks away. “How are you going to convince them to go along with that?”

“You mean how _did_ I. Tony, it’s already been done. All I had to say was that telling the truth – that Rogers had killed you – would cause mass panic amongst the people and they all folded like a house of cards.” Ross steeples his fingers briefly and smiles again. “We’ll let you be missing again, let out a story that you’ve gone on a vacation for three or four months. When your time is up, we’ll just say that we can’t find you.”

Tony lets out a low whistle and lies back down. “You’ve really thought this through.” He smiles though, lets out a little laugh. “You fucked up though, you know where?”

Some of the satisfaction falls off Ross’s face. “What do you mean?” When no answer comes, he scowls and asks again, louder. Tony raises an eyebrow derisively.

Ross starts going purple and Sam has to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Tony to back down. After half a minute of intense staring, Ross takes a breath and scowls. “You talk too much – and you have no respect. Maybe I can help with that.”

“You fucked up,” Tony just hums in reply. Ross growls and runs a hand through his hair, gesturing to a guard who hands him a small blue and black disk which he throws at Tony. The disk sticks to the exposed ribs of Tony’s left side, left bare by the way he was stretched out with his arms above his head.

“Ow,” Tony mutters, sitting up and trying to flick it off but the disk digs its claws in and he falls back onto his bed like his muscles no longer belong nor respond to him, brow crinkling in shock. A second later he arches off the thin mattress at the feeling of tiny tentacles wrapping their way around his ribs. It’s excruciatingly and he can do nothing but suck in a sharp breath and ride out the pain.

He thinks that maybe Sam yells out, outrage and helpless anger, but all Tony can do is groan, breathless at the sharpness of his pain.

When it’s over, Ross is staring at him with a pleased gleam in his eye. “You want to know what that thing is? I wouldn’t touch it,” he adds when Tony brushes cautious fingers over it.  

“Go on then, enlighten me.” Tony grimaces and tries to keep the lingering pain from appearing in his voice. By the pleased smile which graces Ross’s face, he doesn’t quite succeed. Ross takes a backwards step out of the cell and it closes between them.

“It does a lot of things, like keep track of you in pretty much every single way – we can’t have you falling sick on us, after all. It would be a shame if you were to die for real before we could extract a few of your more important secrets.” Ross brushes his fingers over the front of Tony’s cell. “If you manage to leave this cell in any way I don’t authorise, it’ll... incapacitate you until you can be put back.”

“I know I’m going to regret this,” Tony mutters. “But incapacitate me how?”

Ross doesn’t smile, exactly, but his eyes look pleased. “I’m glad you asked, actually. It stimulates the nervous system so that your brain believes that you are in incredible pain, or. Well,” he smiles. “Your brain believes it is feeling whatever I tell it it’s feeling – be it pain, cold. Heat.” Ross smiles, slowly. “Arousal. It’s all very interesting, I’m sure you can agree. This is my favourite setting, want to see how you like it?” And Tony opens his mouth to say, _no, you ass, but thanks,_ but Ross pulls out a small remote out of his jacket pocket and thumbs a shiny silver button even as his mouth opens.

“ _It’s like electricity_ ,” he’ll tell Sam later, huddled into the corner of his cell with his hands wedged into his lap, just so nobody can see them shake. “ _Everything else goes away_.” He’ll say, voice raw from screaming. “ _I can’t fight back against my own brain – it’s all consuming.”_

For now, he just screams.


	4. Four

They must be watching him pretty closely – or maybe the disk thing lets them know, Tony doesn’t know. Anyway, they must be watching him pretty closely because as soon as he stops seizing and jerking randomly enough to talk to, Ross strides back in, checking his watch as he goes.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tony mumbles into the crook of his arm when he sees him coming. “Don’t you have anything _better_ to do?”

“Tell me where I went wrong, Tony,” Ross orders without greeting him. “I’m short on time today.”

“Aren’t we all,” Tony mutters, and then louder says. “What if I don’t? Tell you.” Tony questions just to be contrary, already knowing the answer. Ross lifts the little remote and shakes it gently, and Tony grimaces in response. “Okay,” he says, “let’s not get crazy.” He swings in to an upright position and runs a hand down his face.

“You just told me I’m a dead man, right? You know, officially,” Tony gestures vaguely. “The truth of it is that as of right now, I’m alive. But only as long as I have something you want.” And here, Sam sucks in a quiet breath, understanding. Tony looks up and they share a glance, all animosity between them is gone, faded with their mutual understanding.

“I don’t follow,” interjects Ross.

“Of course you don’t. You want my secrets, don’t you?” Tony laughs. “Well I only stay alive for ls long as I keep them. You backed yourself into a corner – you can hurt me as much as you want but for as long as I want to stay alive for real I’m never going to tell you.”

Ross taps two fingers to his jaw, frowning. “You’re right,” he admits. “I miscalculated. But, no matter. So what if it take more to break you than initially thought? All we have to do is make you want to be dead more than you want to protect your friend and we have nothing but time – your time – to waste.” He turns on his heel, and doesn’t look back as he strides away.

He holds up his right hand, gripping tightly to the black remote. “No,” Tony says as he stands, almost like a plea and even Clint, still with fury in his bones, flinches when Tony screams, when his knees hit the ground and then his head, and they can all do nothing but watch.

 

_-_-_-

 

Every day for the next week, Ross drags him out of his cell and hits him where everyone in the room can see him bleed, tries to get him to talk with threats and bruises, but it’s hard to bribe a dead man and even harder to threaten one, so Tony just smiles through the blood in his teeth and spits on the floor.

“Tell me where they are,” Ross orders and Tony blinks, languid and easy at him from his position on his knees. There’s blood dripping a slow trail from his temple down his jaw, and he curls his lip up he looks like a wild animal in a corner, defiant rage and strength. Ross hits him again like he can make it go away. “Tell me where they are.”

Tony just stares him down. “Go to hell,” he says, and Sam feels his hands curl into helpless fists as Ross’s backhand splits Tony lip and a new splatter of blood decorates the floor.

“This isn’t working,” Ross announces loudly. “Where’s the remote? Someone give it to me.” When he holds out an impatient hand, the remote is slapped into it and everyone in the room except for Tony tenses. Tony just stares, and if he is nervous or afraid it doesn’t show on his face.

“You know, Tony, with a heart condition like yours I can’t imagine that you’ll live for very long if I have to keep hitting you with this every time we have a disagreement.”

“Hmm,” Tony agrees neutrally. “But see, if I start telling you everything you want to know, I’m going to be dead anyway.” He tilts his head back a touch and runs his tongue along his bottom lip in thought. “It seems like we may have a problem.”

Ross crouches down to Tony’s height and places his palm against the column of Tony’s throat, squeezing just enough for it to feel like the threat it is. “I’ve always hated you,” he admits freely. “An arrogant playboy with a big head? And then you grew a conscious? Even worse. But,” and here he pauses to run his thumb nail along Tony’s bottom lip, holding him in place when he tries to lean away. “No matter how much I disliked you, I always thought you were very pretty.”

Tony finally manages to dislodge him, nearly falling over in the process and he sneers. “You can’t afford me.” He swallows thickly as Ross stands up again. Clint feels a sick swirl of disgust and fear twist through his gut as he watches Ross stroke light fingers along Tony’s jaw and knows the feeling must be echoed within the other people in the room. Tony wrenches his head away as Ross tries to touch another finger to his mouth. Tony scowls. “If you stick _anything -_ and I mean _anything -_ in my mouth, you’re going to lose it.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ross takes back his hand and reaches into his pocket. “How about we try another of these settings, hmm? We can start easy – I’d like to see you beg.”

Tipping back his head, Tony looks at the ceiling and snorts quietly. “Better people than you have tried. But by all means,” he condescends. “Give it your best shot.” 

“I was hoping you would say that,” Ross mutters, smug smile turning up the corners of his mouth until he’s grinning, cat like.

And then he thumbs gently at the remote and Tony braces for pain, for agony. Nothing happens for a long moment and then there is a startling pressure in his chest, in his stomach and then – oh. He squirms, suddenly shivering. It’s like there’s an itch he can’t scratch hovering somewhere behind his belly button and he clenches against the feeling.

“Discomfort,” Ross announces needlessly. “Not my favourite setting I have to say, but it certainly seems like there’s a place for it. Feeling any anxiety yet?”

_Always,_ Tony thinks but just clenches his jaw. “Go to hell,” he grits out, stomach rebelling. He feels like he’s crawling out of his skin and it’s jarring, wrong and weird all at once. _Whatever it is,_ he tells himself, _it’s wrong wrong wrong._ All of a sudden, he’s starkly aware of the people watching him, on his knees and sweating, feels their eyes like needles on his skin.

“Beg me,” Ross whispers.

“Get fucked,” Tony whispers back.

Like a saving grace, Ross’s phone goes off. An alert for a meeting, labelled _urgent._ “Lucky this time, Stark,” Ross frowns. “You were always such a disappointment to me.”

He thumbs another button on the remote and Tony jerks, pain tearing up and down his spine like a knife to the ribs a hundred times over, and only distantly hears Ross give the order for him to be thrown back in his cell.

He lands on his side and stays there, staring at the empty cell next door. He can feel Sam staring at him but can’t muster the effort to roll over just yet. His joints feel like pudding, and he’s bitten a chunk off the inside of his cheek in an attempt to stay quiet. He tongues vaguely at the hole but only feels it in a distant kind of way where it doesn’t even matter.

“What heart condition do you have?” Sam asks in an obvious attempt to keep him conscious and talking.

Tony rolls over with a huff of pain and makes a half-hearted attempt to sit up, but aborts it with a wince. “What?” he asks, distracted by his pain.

Sam closes his eyes, just mostly relieved that Tony is conscious enough to talk. “I said, what heart condition do you have?”

“I don’t have one of those.” Tony sounds a touch dreamy, like he’s falling slowly into sleep or going somewhere far away inside his mind.

“You don’t have a heart condition?” Sam probes again.

“No,” Tony says drowsily, a little sad. “I don’t have a heart.”


	5. Five

After the third week of his captivity, when he refuses to talk and they’re running out of places to bruise they start hurting him every time he goes to sleep – he’ll just be dropping off, he’s so _tired_ if he just rested his head, just lay down. Then the pain comes like a speeding train and he bolts up, restraining a scream because everyone else is sleeping and.

And he doesn’t want to bother them.

 It’s classic sleep depravation but the fact that he knows what they’re doing to him does little to help him actually fight it in any way. On the second night of no sleep they give him a particularly bad jolt and he turns into one long line of tension, back bowing right off the bed and there is no restraining the screaming this time.

Everyone is awake instantly but Tony is only half aware of the way that Sam yells, an inarticulate sound of rage, and bangs on the glass. Clint just sits up and watches, chin resting on his clasped hand and jaw clenched.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam manages through gritted teeth when it’s over. “Oh, that’s so fucked up.”

Tony just rolls over so that nobody can see him cry, breath burning in his heaving chest.

It’s a long night.

The next morning it’s clear that something has changed. Or happened. It’s obvious in the tension in the air, the nervousness of the guards. It becomes even more clear when Ross storms in, eyes wild and animal, and flicks the button on Tony’s remote before he can even say anything, watching impassively and Tony falls to his knees and cries out, a soft, hurt sound that tears through his chest and burns his lungs.

It goes on for a log time, from what Tony can figure. In must be pretty bad, because he only wakes up when Ross is halfway through dragging him out of his cell by his collar. Distantly, he notices that he’s bit the tip off of his tongue. Blood fills his mouth he chokes on it as Ross throws him to the floor and he lands on his chest, unable to catch himself before his head makes contact with the cold floor.

Ross beats him for a long time, frenzied anger driving his every move until he’s wild, spitting and frothing at the mouth. Tony kind of checked out a while ago – curled up in a ball and went away into his head – but even he knows that something must have happened involving Rogers or Barnes, or maybe both.

Even so, he still hears Ross start yelling at the other prisoners. “Somebody had better start talking,” Ross growled, punctuating his point with a firm kick to Tony’s stomach. “Or I’m going to lose my _temper.”_ Everyone stays silent through clenched jaws, knuckles white around the bars of their cells. Nobody likes watching this, no matter how mad they had been at Tony before.

“Don’t tell him shit,” Tony spits through a mouthful of blood. “Nobody say anything,” and Ross shuts him up with a kick in the spine that shoots such a sharp agony through him that he spins, trying to get away but mostly just rolling a little on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Ross sits on a nearby step. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then grimaces in disgust when he realises that his hands are covered in blood. He snaps his fingers and someone hands him a wet wipe, and he cleans himself meticulously before he speaks. “There was a sighting of Rogers and Barnes in France this morning, helping with victims of an earthquake. We had instant responders sent out, but they disappeared into thin air.” A crazed light enters his eyes. “But you know where they are, don’t you Tony? It’s Wakanda, isn’t it? Tell me and this can all be over. I won’t have to hurt you again. You can _rest_.”

He draws a gun from somewhere within the folds of his jacket and, holding it carefully, walks over to crouch beside Tony. “Aren’t you tired, Tony? Just give me the word and this can be over.” Sam’s breath hitches in his chest at the way Tony looks at the gun.

Tony stares at it for a long time. It’s almost looks like he’s considering saying yes but then he looks at Ross and then at Sam and he thinks of Rogers, face bloody as he fights to the death over Barnes. They wouldn’t go quietly, people would get hurt. Maybe lots of people. Something hard enters his eyes, determination maybe, and he thinks about saying yes, getting some peace – he’s _so tired_. He sighs and looks away from the gun. “How long has it been since I slept?” he asks instead, pushing up onto his elbows.

Ross sits back on his haunches. “Give or take an hour, probably seventy or so.”

“I thought so,” Tony nods, frowning. “The hallucinations have already started – I wonder how long it’ll be before I’m not lucid enough to talk to anymore.” In his periphery something twitches, but when he turns his head to look it’s gone. “You willing to bet my sanity against a little torture?”

“Are you… negotiating with me?”

“It’s not a negotiation. It’s biology. How many more hours can I stay awake before I lose it? Crazy men can’t talk, not even ones as smart as me.” It’s a solid point.

Ross frowns, thinks it out. Discards it. He waves the gun around a little. “Let’s not let it get that far. Just give me an answer, Tony.” Tony eyes the gun for a moment longer before flopping back on to the floor.

“Tempting,” he says. It’s meant to be a joke, but it comes off a little plaintive instead.

 That night, he is not woken up once by anything but his own nightmares.


	6. Six

Steve comes to rescue them in the middle of the night. It’s strangely anticlimactic – everyone goes down easy and he feels like an unstoppable force as he tears through the Raft trying to find his friends. Anger burns hot as he remembers that Tony has left them here for all this time, in this absolute shit hole, while he went off on a _holiday_. A group of guards jog around the corner and he takes three of them down with a swipe of his shield, sends the rest flying without pausing his stride.

He takes down two more guards and then there is silence but for his heavy breathing as he opens the door in front of him with a firm swing of the shield. The cell block is dark, bar a few flickering lights outside each cell, and he heads for Sam first. Sam is on the end, he figures he can work his way to the door and then they can be out as fast as possible.

He steps into the light on silent footsteps and a little smile ticks up the corner of Sam’s mouth. “Hiya, Cap,” Sam says. “What took you so long?”

“I would have come sooner, but,” Steve grimaces. “I figured Stark would get you out long before I could, you know.” Sam opens his mouth but Steve talks on over him in frustration. “God, I can’t _believe_ him, leaving you in here.”

By the time he’s finished, Sam is staring at his with a furrowed brow. “You mean you haven’t heard?” He nods his head to the cell beside him, one with no lights in front of it. When he doesn’t elaborate, Steve takes a couple of steps to the side and peers in. Until his eyes adjust he can’t see anything, but he slowly begins to pick up the shapes of the room.

The light flicks on above his head and his stomach turns over even as he flinches away. _Jesus._

He’s known Tony a long time. He’s seen Tony happy, upset, smiling tersely through the pain as he gets his arm relocated after a fight. He’s never seen Tony like this – bleeding and hurt, nothing in his eyes like everything that makes him who he is has been pulled out of his skull and thrown away.

Tony looks up slowly from where he is slouched against the far wall, nothing resembling recognition lighting up his eyes right until his gaze wanders blankly to Steve’s shield. Suddenly aware of it’s weight, Steve swings it forcefully down onto the locking mechanism of the cell, practically wrenching it off its tracks when he flings it open.

“No, don’t,” Tony gasps, batting Steve’s hands away when Steve makes to lift him up. “You can’t – go and get everyone else first. Then when. When they’re free come get me. Don’t take me out until you have too.” His eyes roll back into his head a little and he sags against the wall in a way that’s truly terrifying.

“What does he mean,” Steve snaps at Sam. “Get everyone else first, what’s,” he swallows back a panicked breath. “What’s he _mean_?”

“Oh shit.” Sam says. “I hadn’t thought – Steve listen. The second Tony steps out of the cell he’s going to be in a lot of pain. They did something to him and he won’t be able to walk by himself. Here,” he gestures impatiently. “Come unlock the rest of us and we’ll help you, but _don’t_ get him out of his cell yet, alright?”

“I – yes, alright,” Steve agrees, standing and striding out of the cell. In double time he has the door all broken down and is back beside Tony, this time with Sam next to him.

“Pick him up,” Sam directs, and Steve does so, trusting Sam’s judgement and trying to be as gentle as possible.

“You’re going to have to hold on tight,” Clint points out quietly. “He’s going to try and fight you, probably, and he’s going to be seizing and.” He breaks off. “He’ll probably scream, I don’t know it depends. Let’s just hope it doesn’t kill him.”

“ _Kill_ him,” Steve cries, outraged. He cradles Tony closer and glares at them. “What the hell, guys?”

Tony lifts his head weakly from where it was resting against Steve’s collar bone. “Someone should go ahead,” he says quietly. “See if they can find the, the,” he gestures vaguely with one hand and falls silent. “The remote?” Sam finishes for him, and Tony nods a little and a tiny smile flickers onto his face.

In the end, it doesn’t kill him. Steve gets about one step out of the cell before Tony is twisting, gasping helpless, breathless moans into his collar as he fights, struggles against the lack of air, the fire and pain.

It’s like all of his senses have dialled up to eleven, skin so sensitive even the brush of his clothing feel like too much. Every bruise becomes a hot point of stabbing pain, even the gentle way that Steve cradles him too much for him to bare, but there’s no way he can walk on his own so he just shoves his face deep into Steve’s chest and tries to draw breath past the agony.

Distantly, he can hear the sounds of fighting, but Steve is steady under his cheek and so anything else is irrelevant.

“I didn’t tell him shit, Steve,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to distract himself but blood is bubbling between his lips and it’s hard to talk. “You know I didn’t – I wouldn’t,” and Steve doesn’t pause in his march out of this hell hole but his steps falter as grief stabs him in the chest.

“I know you didn’t,” he murmurs. “It’s okay, I know,” and Tony is too far gone to really hear the words, can’t get a grip on the agony enough to focus, but he can hear the message, the tone, so he just curls his fingers tighter into the fabric of Steve’s shirt and holds on.

Clint finds the remote, maybe, or Sam, but the relief of pain is so sudden that Tony goes slack, breath hitching in a quiet sob as he finally catches his breath.

Soon, they will have to go into hiding, deal with the fact that Tony is a dead man. They’ll all be fugitives and things might not ever go back to the way they were. They have a lot to do – a lot of issues to resolve and arguments to have. For now though, they are all free, standing on the roof of the raft watching as rescue comes down to them.

That’s just going to have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> the trigger warning is for ross just being generally really creepy about tony and being in a position of power where A) should he act on his attraction, tony would be in no position to stop him and B) he uses that position of power to threaten tony. no non con occurs at any point apart from unwanted advances which are rejected.
> 
> title from Ella Vos's song Down In Flames. 
> 
> this work was inspired by the rewatching of the Cursed movie Civil War, and my intense Feelings about it. i'd love some feed back on my writing, but please be nice about it because i'm only doing this for fun 
> 
> but yeah, let me know :)


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